


Kid Gloves

by deadstarfish



Series: Before and After - The Factory AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And I mean a LOT, Ed Swears a Lot, Factory AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, this is my first fic in eight years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadstarfish/pseuds/deadstarfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the RoyEd Holiday Gift Exchange!</p><p>Ed Elric hates his stupid factory job, and he hates his stupid manager.<br/>But Mustang sees something in him that no-one else does.</p><p>(titled after the Marmaduke Duke song of the same name which inspired a lot of the writing for this half of the fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Admiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiral/gifts).



> This was written for the RoyEd Holiday Gift Exchange, for tumblr user grandadmiral! 
> 
> It sort of... ran away from me, though, and it's ended up as a bit-too-long multi-chaptered thing.  
> It's also the first fic I've written and posted in about seven or eight years, so I'm really glad to be able to get back into this whole fanfiction thing :D I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Happy New Year!

Ed Elric hates his stupid factory job.  
  
Every morning he gets up at ass o’clock – even in summer it’s mostly still dark – showers, and braids his long hair so that maybe it won’t look like it’s still damp. (Like fuck he’s getting up even _earlier_ to dry it.) If he’s not overslept by too much, there’s sometimes enough time for him to cram some toast in his mouth before running to get the 6am train.

  
But always, no matter how late he’s running, he always looks in on his little brother’s room before he leaves, to remind himself why he does this every day. Ed hates his stupid factory job, but he loves Al, and he’d slave away in circuit board hell for all eternity if it kept his little brother safe.

So it’s on the first train out of the station, which slowly rattles its way out of the city centre and into the industrial fringes of Central City. Walk from the train station to the factory (usually in the pouring rain, because hey, when the universe hates you, it really,  _really_ hates you), clock in, stand up at a jig and build all day, watch the clock tick down until it’s time to leave again. Back on the train, eat dinner, tell Al he’s brilliant, then sleep before you have to wake up and do it all again the next day.

It’s finally getting on for springtime, and the mornings are getting a little brighter, making it marginally easier to get up at such a damn early hour. This in turn means that it’s actually a fair way before seven when Ed makes it to clock in that morning, leaving him enough time to stumble his way to his locker in the corridor (still not enough _sleep,_ dammit) to stow his bag, and change his jacket and shoes for the anti-static ones that have become his daily uniform.  
  
“Good morning, Ed,” comes a far-too-upbeat voice from just to his left. “It’s nice to see you here on time for once.”  
  
Ed snaps his head to the side and glares vindictively at what he sees.  
  
Roy _fucking_ Mustang.  
  
Ed Elric hates his stupid factory job, and he hates his stupid manager. Mustang is smug, arrogant, way too full of himself – Ed could list every comparable word in the thesaurus and it still wouldn’t be enough. Even though he worked his way up to manager from being a line operator rather than coming straight in as a university graduate, like most of the senior management have, he’s still just as haughty as the rest of them in Ed’s opinion.  
  
The one problem is, he’s like the most attractive guy Ed’s ever seen in his _life_. Stupid bastard doesn’t even have the grace to look as disagreeable as his personality. And just because of that, the whole situation pisses Ed off even more.  
  
It’s 6:49 in the damn morning and somehow his stupid asshole manager’s hair looks perfect. Like Ed, he’s wearing a blue anti-static jacket, the kind that’s made out of weird material and sizes strangely with no stretch whatsoever, fitting nobody quite right, except – except somehow on Roy fucking Mustang of all people, it looks… good, somehow?

Fuck _this_.

“It’s too damn early for your sarcasm,” Ed snaps back, slamming his locker shut.  
  
“Sarcasm? From me?” Mustang raises one fine dark eyebrow and smirks that same stupid smirk. “It _is_ nice that you’re on time. Maybe we’ll actually meet our targets today.”

  
Ed grumbles something unintelligible in return and stomps off to change his shoes.


	2. Say It Right

There is absolutely nothing good, ever, about Monday mornings, Ed gripes to himself.  
  
It’s been raining solidly all night, and he stepped in the puddle by the turnstile _again_ in his hurry to get through, which means he’s going to have to put the stupid badly fitting anti-static shoes on over sopping wet socks. His right foot will be damp and blister-prone all day, and his left foot will probably _squeak_ in the stupid rubber shoes.  
  
_Fuck this_ , Ed thinks as he jams his badge into the reader too fast for a third time, the machine bleeping crossly at him. _Fuck rain, fuck security systems, fuck work, and fuck Mondays._  
  
After what seems like an Odyssean journey of epic proportions, Ed eventually makes it to the clocking-in machines. 07:17. Shit. Never mind the pay lost, Mustang is going to _murder_ him.  
  
He arrives almost ten minutes late to the morning meeting. They’re already finishing up when he gets there. Mustang raises an eyebrow at him, but it’s not playful this time.  
  
“Ed, can I talk to you, please? Now?”  
  
Ling, who is meant to be Ed’s friend, but more often than not gets on his nerves just as much as Roy does, makes a mocking face at him from over their manager’s shoulder as he’s leaving. Ed almost sticks his tongue out, but thinks better of it, given that said manager is looking at him and not Ling. Ed takes a seat with a definite sense of ire.  
This could easily be the worst. Monday. Ever.  
  
“This is the fifth time you’ve been late in the past fortnight,” Mustang sighs, closing the door behind the others. “And not just a few minutes late, but _very_ late. What’s going on?”  
  
Ed just glowers silently, gold eyes sharp as knifepoints.  
In truth, Al’s been ill, and Ed’s been so worried he’s not sleeping, staying at his brother’s side until long past when he should have left for work. But like _fuck_ he’s gonna tell Mustang that.  
  
The other man grimaces.   
“Fine. You’re still hitting all your daily targets, so I’m not going to make this a disciplinary thing-"  
  
“Okay, what is your _issue_?” Ed interrupts, violent and hissing like a firework.    
  
“ _My_ issue?”  
  
“You could fire me any time. You’ve got that power, all it takes is to get HR in here and make the call—"  
  
“I can make this that kind of conversation if you want, Edward,” Mustang interjects smoothly.  
  
“So why don’t you?” Ed spits, trying to cover the way he shivers somewhere inside at the way his full name sounds in Mustang’s mouth, because, seriously, what the _fuck_ was that.  
  
“Because,” he says, still frustratingly calm, “Despite your acrid personality, you’re one of the best workers in this place.”  
  
Ed did have a harsh retort prepared, but the unexpected praise catches him off guard and the words stick in his throat.  
  
“The _fuck,_ Mustang—”  
  
“Overuse of obscenities aside,” the other man interrupts him _again_ , and _shit_ , Ed could strangle the guy, except even riled up he knows that jail is probably a lot worse than jobseeker’s. “You know I’m right.” He says it in the kind of tone of voice of a man who is used to being right, and it pisses Ed off even more.  
  
“So fucking what,” Ed snaps.  
  
“You could do more than being an operator, you know.”  
  
Ed meets his gaze levelly, trying to inject as much fire into his eyes as he’s feeling from Mustang. He doesn’t have to be clever with his words to get under this guy’s skin.  
     
“I know.”  
  
“So why don’t you?”  
  
“None of your damn business.” Ed shrugs. He won’t give Mustang any satisfaction from having his own question turned back on him. “Now are we done here?”

 

* * *

 

 “Geez, what an asshole!” Winry exclaims.  
  
Ed, true to form, responds by shrugging and shovelling more food into his mouth.  
  
Winry is a test development engineer (or, in Ed’s own words, a _techie freak)_ and Ed’s best (and possibly only) friend in this godforsaken factory.  
They grew up together, the three of them – him and Winry and Al. Ed sometimes thinks if he’d been into girls at all, he would have probably ended up marrying Win. He trusts her with anything, tells her everything. Which is exactly why he’s bitching about his manager to her over breakfast. For what must be the eighteenth day in a row.   
  
“I just don’t get why he gives a shit,” Ed says around a mouthful of bacon. Actually, it comes out more like _Wrf jrrdgh wrrdbrrd shrrm,_ but Winry’s known him since _ever_ so she always gets exactly what he means.  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Ed, managers are _supposed_ to give a shit. Good ones, anyway. Except… this guy seems a little over-invested, you know? Not to mention patronising. _‘You could do better’_ – what, is he your schoolteacher or something?”  
  
Ed slouches deeper into the cheap plastic chair. “Fuck knows who he thinks he is. Anyway, he pisses me off, and I piss him off. It’s like a never-ending circle of antagonism.”  
  
Winry looks at him slyly, smiling a knowing smile that reminds Ed worryingly of Alphonse.  
  
“But, I think secretly you’re okay with him being your direct manager, ‘cause you know he’s the only one who’d ever put up with you and your crap.”  
  
At that, Ed makes a sputtering noise a little like a broken tap, but says nothing in protest.  
  
Winry, of course, knows this means she’s right.  

 

* * *

  
Ed, by the skin of his teeth, manages to avoid too much confrontation with his irksome manager for the rest of the week, but Mustang corners him somehow that Friday afternoon right as he’s about to head to clock out.  
  
“There’s a training course coming up at the end of the month. I want to put you in for it.”  
  
“And why would you want to do that?” Ed glares at the bank of lockers, refusing to turn around and face the guy properly. It’s time to _leave_ , dammit, hasn’t he done his time already?  
  
“I’m going to be honest with you, it is partly a corporate bullshit thing,” Mustang concedes, and Ed admits he’s surprised by the other man’s tone of voice. He sounds as tired with the whole thing as Ed does, and Ed wonders for the first time if, actually, Mustang could ever be on his side. “If we want to hit quarterly yield targets, we’re going to need a lot of rework doing on those defective boards, but we don’t have enough qualified people to do it.”  
  
Ed slams his locker closed and turns to look Mustang in the eye – or rather, glare at Mustang hatefully in the hope he’ll just go away so that Ed can leave.  
  
“So, why me?”  
  
“Because, Ed, you’ve been working for me for, what, nearly three years now? I know you, and I know you’re capable of this. I think it would be a good thing for you to do.”  
  
Ed, in response, turns the key in his locker rather more forcefully than is necessary, and snarls, “I told you before, I’m not interested in your ‘personal development plan’ or whatever other schemes you have up your sleeve for me. I’m not interested in bolstering your fucking ego, and I’m not interested in working my ass off just to make you look good in front of senior management, okay?”  
  
Mustang sighs. “Look, at least think about it over the weekend, alright? If you decide not to, then can you at least promise me one thing?”  
  
“What?” Ed growls, wanting to say _I don’t owe you shit_ , but equally wanting to not start an argument at this hour on a Friday.  
  
“That you’ll be able to give me a full explanation as to _why_ you don’t want to.”  
  
“And why would you want to know that?”  
  
Mustang pauses for a moment before answering, studying Ed carefully with those sharp flint-black eyes.  
  
“Honestly? You baffle me, Edward. You’re the most intelligent, sharp, downright _brilliant_ person I’ve ever met. And yet – you never took your high school exams. You’ve never gone any further than this. You can go further – I know you can, don’t give me that sour face – you could conquer the whole damn world if you wanted to. But it seems to me… it seems to me like you’ve given up already.”  
  
“You think I’ve given up?” Ed looks at him askance. “Maybe I have. So what.”  
  
“I don’t buy it. Why would someone like you just give up?”  
  
Ed shrugs. “Circumstances.”  
  
Mustang raises an eyebrow, in an _I’m going to need more explanation than that_ kind of way. Ed wonders briefly how the guy can be so expressive with just eyebrows and a self-satisfied smirk. He wonders when exactly he started to learn and recognise the minute details of all those facial expressions.  
  
“Okay, you want the whole fucking story? My mum died when I was little. Dad was never around – see, doesn’t it sound like a shitty soap opera already? – My little brother, my only family – he was in a coma for four years and we had no-one else. I had to work to support us both _and_ pay his hospital bills, so school wasn’t exactly high on my priority list. I’m too old to retake the exams now, so… that’s that. Whatever. But Al’s doing better now. He’s a smart kid, he’ll smash those exams. I just have to work, and be there for him. That’s it. That’s all I have in me to offer right now.”  
  
Ed exhales loudly, feeling like a broken cassette tape. He never wants to tell this story, but he ends up telling it again and again until he comes unwound, spilled everywhere, and he never quite puts back together the same way.  
  
Mustang is looking at him strangely, head tilted to one side, dark eyes intent. It’s not pity – which, honestly, is how Ed is used to people looking at him, once they hear the whole ugly tale – but rather, something more like… interest?  
  
Ed shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. He really needs a weekend.  
  
“Okay. Great. Brilliant. So now you know.” He turns to leave.  
  
 “So, that’s it?” Mustang murmurs from just behind him, before he can even go anywhere.  
  
Ed spins around, rage sparking in his amber eyes. “What the fuck d’you mean, _that’s it?_ ”  
  
“Is that all the fight you have left in you?”  
  
Ed snorts derisively. “What’s there left to fight for? I keep this lousy job so my little brother can go to university. I might have fucked things up for myself, but I’m not gonna fuck things up for him too.”  
  
“You’re not lost yet, so don’t you dare think otherwise,” Mustang says, his voice possibly more powerful and commanding than Ed’s ever heard it. “There’s a fire in those eyes of yours, Ed Elric. You can stand there and tell me you’ve given up, that you can’t try any more – which I think we both know isn’t true, you’re stronger than that – or, you can take the chance I’m offering you. Find a better life for yourself. For your brother.”  
  
Ed scowls at him silently for a moment or two.  
  
“I said I’m not interested,” he hisses, but there’s something rekindling in him, somewhere, a spark on dry firewood. He turns and stalks away before Mustang sees that in his eyes, too.

 


	3. It Won't Be Long Until We Make a Scene

“Edward Elric?” Hakuro, general production manager and all-round asshole, sneers. “You want to put _him_ in for training? Waste of time if you ask me.”  
  
Ed himself, who had been waiting for Winry to go to lunch, but then – like any rational person would, he reasons with himself – had been listening at the meeting room door since he first heard his name mentioned, bristles at that. The attitudes of senior management anger him, but by now don’t surprise him.  
  
What _does_ give him cause for surprise, though, is what he hears next.  
  
“I don’t believe that any training should be considered a waste of time,” comes a familiar voice. 

 _Wait. Mustang?_  
  
He hears Hakuro snort. “Elric’s a troublemaker if ever I saw one. Bad attitude, bad haircut, bad life prospects in general.”  
  
“Same as all the rest of ‘em, really,” says someone else snidely, a voice Ed doesn’t recognise. “Can’t get a decent enough job, so they’re bitter at the rest of us who can.”  
  
“Let’s not forget who in this factory actually drives production, here.” Mustang says pointedly. He’s speaking slowly, each syllable measured and deliberate. Ed knows from first-hand experience, he has to be angry. Not just angry – he’s livid, by the sounds of it, but trying not to lose his composure. “Operational training for direct production employees should be considered a top priority. Not to mention, I am Edward’s line manager. Policy dictates that _I_ decide his training needs.”  
  
The authority and quiet fury in that voice chills Ed from head to toe. It’s somewhere between fear and thrill, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.  
  
“And policy _also_ dictates that all training costs be approved by the manager of the relevant cost centre,” Hakuro bites back. “Which would be me – and I say it’s a waste of time.”  
  
“I’ll have to take this to the leadership group, then.” Ed hears Mustang reply, his voice still calm, but with the undercurrent of anger rumbling like the threat of a thunderstorm underneath the composed exterior. “We need more training for this rework if we’re going to hit any targets at all this year, and we need someone capable to do it.”  
  
“Do what you like, Mustang.” Hakuro hisses. “Grumman will still say no. I’m telling you, the kid is a waste of space. If you’re that desperate to get the costs authorised, pick someone else for the rework.”  
  
“Really,” he hears Mustang deadpan in return. He says it lazily, like he’s musing on what the others are saying, but ultimately, it’s of no interest to him. It’s the kind of tone of voice that pisses Ed off on a daily basis, but to hear it directed at someone else – in particular a _senior manager_ – makes him want to jump for joy.  “Because, well, I work with him every day – and I get the impression that there are few in this factory as brilliant and as capable as Edward.”  
  
Ed tries, he really does, to squash the swell of pride that rises in his chest at that remark, because, ugh, _really_? It’s ridiculous to be so pleased by the slightest bit of praise. Especially coming from a guy like Mustang.  
  
He’s so distracted by his own internal conflict that he doesn’t even see Winry standing right in front of him.  
When she says “There you are. Ready for lunch?” he nearly jumps a foot in the air and almost completely blows his cover.  
  
Right. Of course. Lunch. Winry. The whole reason he’s even in the central office in the first place.  
Winry gives him a questioning look, but he shakes his head.  
  
“C’mon, slowpoke. Let’s eat while we still have a lunch break left.”

 

* * *

 

The next time he sees Mustang that day, it’s at their weekly comms meeting. For a good fifteen minutes he listens to his manager rattle off the sales for the month, their daily targets for the next week, yield statistics and blah blah blah _snooze.  
_  
“I want to do it,” he says, as the meeting disperses. “Y’know, the training course,” he adds hastily, realising the double entendre before he’s even finished speaking. He’s expecting raised eyebrows and sarcastic comments, but instead Mustang just looks at him, face serious.  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
Ed fidgets under the intensity of that look. “Yeah?” he says, but his tone is evasive, hesitant.  
  
“If you’re gonna commit, Ed, then commit,” Roy warns, dark eyes still stern. “Otherwise forget it. We need extra manning end of week 18, and I’m not gonna promise Hakuro that I can hit these targets only to not follow through.”  
  
_That._ That strikes the right chord somewhere, and later Ed will wonder if Roy did it on purpose, realising full well which buttons to press, knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’ll get. Ed really wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.  
  
“ _Fine_ ,” he growls. “Even if just to prove those assholes in senior management wrong about me.”  
  
Roy’s face breaks into a grin. “That’s the spirit,” he says, that old nonchalant expression back in place.  
  
“Whatever.” Ed gripes. “We wouldn’t be doin’ any rework in the first place if you hadn’t been slacking on your visual QC.”  
  
Roy gives him a strained look in return.  
  
“Tell Riza, and I might accidentally forget to put your overtime on the system.”  
  
Ed’s response to that is a very undignified snort. “She’d run over your toes with a pump truck if she knew you weren’t following procedure.”  
  
“Don’t even joke about it,” Roy says weakly, and Ed can’t help but laugh.   

 

* * *

 

So he does the stupid training. It takes him nearly a week to complete.  
  
The first few days Mustang authorises him to come off line, but it makes the senior managers antsy. Ed, of course, is fine with this, but by Wednesday Roy is making desperate faces at him, and asking if he could maybe stay late the next two days instead. Ed snickers wickedly at his expression for a while, but eventually agrees. Overtime pay is overtime pay, after all.  
  
So, at about half five on that same Wednesday, Ed finds himself sat in the operational test area still trying to learn how to fix a fucked-up circuit board.  
Mustang leans over him to point out the tiny parts on the board, lips far too close to Ed’s ear when he murmurs, “Be careful of the solder bridge, there—“.  
  
Their hands brush.  
  
They’re both wearing anti-static gloves, but Ed still jumps like he’s been stung.  
  
Roy frowns at him. “You okay? Can’t have been static, surely?”  
  
Ed is silent for a moment. Good question. What in the _fuck_ was that.  
  
He decides, in the end, to brush it off. “No. I dunno. I’m tired, I guess.”  
  
“Maybe we should call it a day, then.” He straightens up, but Ed’s eyes follow his face without his really thinking about it. Roy adjusts the huge magnifying glass, meant for looking closely at small parts, moving it back toward the wall for use another day. The lamplight glints sharply through the lens, casting shifting shadows and flickers of light across his face. Ed realises then, with a jolt just like a small static spark, that Roy’s eyes aren’t black, like he’d thought, but rather a very dark blue.  
  
Ed wonders, as he ambles thoughtfully along the path to the turnstile, how close he’d have to get to see the blue under ordinary lighting. That thought leads to a few other trains of thought, that send him into a flurry of panicked embarrassment, and he practically crashes through the turnstile, fighting with the badge reader on his way, leaving a few bemused night shifters in his wake.

 

* * *

  
  
Thursday is equally is trialling, for all the wrong reasons. By the time they finally finish, checking all the relevant boxes, it’s long past the end of Ed’s shift and long past the time any of the indirect workers should be there.  
  
So when Mustang finally signs the form to say that yes, Ed is capable of doing circuit board rework all by himself, Denny, the training manager, just sort of sighs and says “We’ll sort the paperwork out in the morning,” and goes to clock out. Which leaves Ed alone with his manager in the operational training room. His stupidly attractive manager, who has _definitely_ not been causing him to be jumpy with his close proximity over the past few days. Absolutely not. At all.

"Well." Ed says, breaking the quiet. "I guess I'll put the forms on his desk, th..." 

He trails off when he realises Mustang is looking right at him, dark eyes softened in the dimmed after-hours light.   
  
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You did well.”   
  
He reaches out then, cupping Ed’s face in one hand. His thumb brushes Ed’s cheekbone, and there’s a easy smile on his face that Ed’s never seen before. His touch is light, like Ed is something precious, to be revered. Ed’s fairly sure he’s never been treated like that in his _life_. He feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He’s standing there, holding the forms numbly to his chest, feeling his pulse somewhere in his feet, watching the whole surreal scene from somewhere else.  
  
Ed realises that from this distance, he can see the blue in Mustang’s eyes, even under the reduced lighting, left on only for the night shift.  
  
All too suddenly, Roy pulls away, grimacing, probably realising too late that a line had been crossed, somewhere.  
  
“We’ll need you over the weekend for the rework now,” he says gruffly, turning away. “Speak to HR tomorrow about the overtime pay.”  
  
Ed wants to call after him. He has a million and one questions; he doesn’t _want_ Roy to walk away from him now. But he, too, knows that there was a line crossed, a boundary broken. He just wishes he could jump across that line with both feet, rather than turning back and pretending he’d never crossed it in the first place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I say this fic ran away with me, I mean it REALLY RAN AWAY WITH ME. 
> 
> Every chapter is taking longer than expected to edit and upload because I get carried away every time I look at it and I want to add more D: 
> 
> But I'm getting there! It's just nice to be writing again :)


	4. Five Sided Magazine

It’s around 10am the following day – Friday, finally, thank _fuck_ , it’s been a helluva week – that Mustang returns from the leadership meeting with a strange expression on his face.

Roy’s head is bowed, but Ed sees his shoulders shaking with the laughter he’s trying to hold in.  
  
“I’ve never wished that you could come to leadership group meetings before, but today…”  
  
Ed gives him a strange look. “That’d be a complete fucking disaster. Why today?”  
  
Mustang takes a deep breath in through his nose and manages to stifle the laughter long enough to speak.  
  
“Okay, so, you know Hakuro? General production manager?”  
  
Ed snorts, thinking back to the conversation he’d overheard in the central office. “Yeah, I know him, but we aren’t exactly friends.”  
  
Roy’s barely suppressed grin flashes to a grimace for just a moment. “He’s not particularly my best pal either. He’s never been happy about how I got promoted from operator to manager within such a short space of time, and he keeps trying to get in my way with all this—” he flaps a hand in the air for a second or two, trying to find an appropriate phrase, before settling on “—needless bullshit.”  
  
Ed raises an eyebrow, but tries not to show how surprised he is to hear Roy swear with such venom.  
It’s out of character for the older man – or maybe, Ed muses, maybe it isn’t. Maybe he’s just getting to see a different side recently.  
He isn’t really sure what to make of this.  
  
“Anyway,” Roy continues, “I had to present in leadership group about the training we’ve been doing this week and how, hello, _maybe we might need to authorise more operational cross-training_? Hakuro, smug asshole that he is, started out the meeting looking at me with this stupid self-satisfied face, like he knew they were all gonna shoot me down, but Bradley was actually rather pleased with the whole thing. And Grumman – operations director, maybe you don’t know him – just went on and on about how excellent it was, all this _upskilling the workforce_ and _corporate values_ and how other departments should take example from ours, and honestly, with every second that went by Hakuro was looking more and more like someone shoved a cactus up his arse.”  
  
Ed lets out a bark of vindictive laughter, and Roy shakes his head.  
  
“I just wish you could have seen it.”  


* * *

  
He goes to morning break with a smile still on his face. Ling gives him a weird look in the line for the toaster. 

“You’re weirdly happy today,” he says. “What’s going on?”  
  
“What, do I need a reason to be lookin’ happy?”

“You do in this place, anyway.”  
  
“Well I’m _sorry_ , next time I’ll ask your permission before I dare to go an’ smile in your presence—“  
  
“Ah, now _there’s_ the Ed we all know and love.”  
  
“Ling, could you not?” Winry cuts in, leaning in between them to grab a fried egg. “He doesn’t need any further encouragement to be a grumpy sod, thanks very much.”  
  
“I’m just _sayin_ ’. I mean, Ed, you hate your job. It’s weird when you grin all manic like that. Creeps me the hell out.”  
  
“ _You_ creep me the hell out,” Ed grumbles in retort.

He thinks about it for a long while after that, though. Ling’s right – he has been weirdly smiley, considering how busy he’s been and how much overtime he’s put in this week.  
  
Maybe he’s delusional. Cracked. Gone nuts from spending too many hours in this place. It wouldn’t be inconceivable.

Still, delusional or not, from that week on everything seems to be on the up, which he can’t quite believe.

He grudgingly goes in to work the weekend overtime he’s been trained for, and Mustang greets him with an air of mock surprise, as if he can’t quite believe that Ed would ever willingly come in on a weekend.  
Ed responds with a grumbled “Fuck you,” but it’s not quite so much vitriolic anymore as it is easy routine.  
  
Al’s doing well in school, and Ed, he’s …well, not hating work as much as he used to, and hey, at the end of the day they’re both coming home with smiles on their faces. And if Al’s smiling, Ed’s smiling, and all is okay with the world.    


* * *

 

 Until one Tuesday in March, when Al wakes with a fever so high he can’t get out of bed, and Ed goes into panic mode. His little brother’s body has been fragile ever since the pair of them were first hospitalised years ago, and Al seems to get every cold that’s going around, but this – this is serious.  
  
“Hey. Mustang. Listen, I’m sorry, I – I can’t come in today.”  
  
He has to hold the phone with his left hand. His messed-up right arm is shaking like a leaf, nerves jarring from shoulder to fingertip. He knows he sounds panicked, and he can practically hear the answering frown in Roy’s voice.  
  
“Everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I uh – I mean… well. No,” he sighs eventually, dropping his head into his free hand.  
“Al’s sick. Like, really sick. I gotta take him to the doctor.”  
  
_Take him to the doctor_.  
  
He hears his own words echo back on him and feels them start to spiral away from him like water down a drain, only he’s getting pulled into it too,    
  
_Doctors. Al. Hospitals. Al in hospital. The stink of antiseptic. Al, face pale under an oxygen mask._

Fuck. 

He remembers Roy telling him _you’ve got a fire in those eyes of yours._  
   
He takes a deep breath, trying to feed some of that fire into his shaking lungs. If there’s even any of it left, anymore.  
He finds his focus like a grasping hand in the dark, and as though from the bottom of a well he hears Mustang’s voice coming tinny through the phone.  
  
“Ed,” he hears the older man say, “Ed. It’s fine, okay? Take a day. Take tomorrow, too, if you need. You’ve phoned in early enough that I can plan cover. It’s really fine.”  
  
“Thanks.” Ed says. His voice is shaking, still.  “Thank you.”  
  
“No worries. Just remember to use proper phoning-in procedure tomorrow too or Riza will yell at me again.”  
  
Ed allows himself a weak smile at the thought.  
  
“’Kay.”

When Mustang hangs up, Ed calls a taxi to take himself and Al to the surgery. Fuck, he wishes he could drive.  
Al is so weak that Ed has to carry him into the waiting room. Ed sits, spine ramrod-straight in the crappy plastic chair, heart pounding so fast it’s making him feel sick. Al leans against his shoulder, eyes closed, snuffling weakly. Ed screws his eyes shut tight and tries not to think about anything at all.  
  
When the nurse at the door calls out _Alphonse Elric? The doctor will see you now._ Ed swears he feels his heart swing and stop, like a too-heavy pendulum. He’s heard those words before too many times to count.

_Just... what if. What if. What if this time, they can’t save him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally posting the rest of this hollaaa
> 
> better late than never I guess
> 
> your comments are as much appreciated as always :)


	5. Nobody Else Makes You Feel This Way

Ed’s back in work by the end of the week. Just a viral infection, the doctor says. In a fully healthy person it’d clear up in no time, but because Al is Al, and still fragile, they prescribe him some medicine just to be safe.

So Al’s resting, and Ed’s back in work. He shouldn’t be. He’s hardly slept and Al’s still running a temperature, but the unspoken shadow of fear still hangs over both their heads – if Ed doesn’t come to work soon, they won’t be able to pay for the treatment anyway.  

When Ed gets to clocking in, Mustang is leaning against the vending machines by the lockers, dark eyes worried.  
  
“Hey,” he says, “You okay?”  
  
Ed drags a hand across his weary face. “Yeah. Kinda. Just need coffee. Not been sleeping all that great.”  
  
“If you need to take another day, just say. It’s no good you coming in if you’re not here mentally.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, and it’ll be my fault if we don’t hit targets today, I know.”  
  
“That, and you work in a _factory_. You know, electrical equipment and hazards everywhere? If you’re tired and not focusing, you could end up hurting yourself.”  
  
“Jeez, Mustang, I didn’t know you cared.” He intends it to sound sarcastic, but he can feel his face getting hot so he’s fairly sure the effect is lost.  
  
“I mean, imagine the paperwork I’d have to fill out in the case of an industrial accident. DAYS of it, Ed. Days and days’ worth of the stuff.”  
  
Ed manages a derisive snort through the exhaustion.  
  
“It’d be good for you, probably. From the way Riza and her quality guys keep on at you, you’d think you’d never even done an hour’s worth in your life, let alone days.”    
  
Mustang pouts at that. Actually _pouts_ , and the expression looks so ridiculous on him that Ed feels a small bubble of giddiness, like a laugh half-formed, rise in his chest. It’s slow and sickly, like it’s rising through treacle, but he feels it like a lungful of air amidst the exhaustion.  
  
“I resent that accusation,” Roy sulks. “You’re lucky I do paperwork at all or you wouldn’t get paid.”  
  
It’s a shitty comeback, really, but Ed feels a half-smile crack his weary face anyway.  
  


* * *

  
He manages to get through the day okay, for the most part. Keeping his hands occupied with work is enough to keep his mind occupied as well, and being back at the same workstation he’s so often at feels just routine enough that it’s somehow comforting. But by the time it gets to the afternoon, the tiredness is creeping up on him, and there’s the beginnings of an ache in his left leg – standing up all day at a jig is a bitch to begin with, Ed thinks to himself as he has probably a million times before, never mind with a prosthetic leg to boot.

At approximately five to three, the stump of his left leg throbs, and his weakened flesh-and-blood knee threatens to give way. He stumbles against the jig in front of him, hands faltering.

Before he’s even realised what the hell just happened, there’s a hand at the small of his back, supporting him, easing the ache with a comfortable warmth.

“Hey,” he hears a by now too-familiar voice murmur maybe a little too-close to his ear. “You okay? Recovery break’s coming up in five if you need to sit down.”  
  
“’Kay.” Ed tries not to let his voice shake, but he’s probably failing. “Thanks.”  
  
Mustang moves away, but Ed still feels the warmth he left behind. He shakes his head suddenly, half to wake himself up and half in agitation at himself.   
  
_Fucking_ focus _, Ed. Recovery break in five.  
_

* * *

 

  
He sits out on the bench in the exit corridor, away from everyone. The last thing he needs is Russell or some other nosy bugger on his line to come find him and ask questions. Not just about the way he’s feeling (which is like shit, by the way), but he also wants to avoid the interrogations and the curious gossip around the way Roy had stood so close to him.  
  
He swears he can still feel the warmth of the other man’s hand on his back.  
  
The door to the corridor space swings open suddenly, and Ed’s fully ready to tell whoever it is to piss off, but the insult dies before it even gets past his teeth and tongue.  
  
It’s Mustang. With a plastic cup of strong coffee from the canteen vending machines.  
  
He sits down alongside Ed on the small bench and hands him the drink.  
  
“I know you’re not allowed to go to the canteen on recovery break, and neither am I really, but you seriously looked like you needed this.”  
  
Ed takes the small plastic cup from him, but fixes him with a probing look.  
  
“Why do you give a shit, anyway?” he says. “You keep lookin’ out for me, but I don’t give you anythin’ but trouble in return.”  
  
The other man shrugs. “I never felt like I needed anything in return. I just….I want to see you happier, that’s all. Is it… too much?” There’s a hesitation there. Mustang is never so overtly hesitant, but Ed’s too exhausted to register the change.  
  
“No, it’s – well, yes, but – I don’t know.” Ed scrubs at his face with one hand. “I mean – y’know. Thanks. Sorry. I’m just tired.”  
  
 “Okay. Just… take care of yourself, Edward, please?”  
  
Then he’s gone, and Ed is left alone with the shoe cover bins and his crappy vending machine coffee.  
  
He still doesn’t know what to make of Roy fucking Mustang.


	6. Keep Your Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular fic updates: we're doing this. we're making this happen.

Ed stews over what he’s come to call _The Coffee Thing_ in his mind for at least the next week before he gets any answers. It’s 4pm, and like any other day he’s stood by his locker, day shifters streaming past on their way home, when Roy calls him over.  
  
“Edward,” he says, “Do you have a moment?” and _shit,_ he’s not even meeting Ed’s eyes, he’s looking off to the side, but Ed still shivers at that. It’s his own fucking _name_ , dammit, it’s not the kind of thing that should produce this kind of reaction, but still, it feels … it feels like when you turn the bass up high on a good set of speakers and you can feel it, electric and throbbing, from somewhere deep in your chest down to the very tips of your fingers.  
  
“Sure,” Ed says, even though it’s the end of the day and he should definitely be getting the hell out of the place. He’s always got _a moment_ for Roy Mustang, and he’s never really stopped to consider what that means.  
  
“HR room?” Mustang asks, and Ed feels an alarming dip somewhere in his stomach, like when the rollercoaster cart tips just over the edge of the drop, and the world fans out below, somewhere on the edge of fear and a whole realm of terrifying possibility.  
The HR meeting room is soundproofed and has frosted windows. It’s for confidential conversations only, and Ed dreads to think now what on earth Mustang could want.  
  
He wishes he’d said he was busy.  
As much as he goads the other man about firing him, he knows he’s being stupid and selfish every time he does it. He _needs_ this job. He needs this job for Al’s sake, not his.  
  
Numb, he follows the other man into the meeting room and sits, waiting for an explanation.  
  
Roy still isn’t looking anywhere near him. His whole face is tense, brows drawn and teeth set. Ed doesn’t like it. Mustang, as Ed knows him, should be all easy smirks and playful quirked eyebrows.  
  
 “There have been concerns raised recently regarding my behaviour towards you--” he begins.  
  
“Concerns raised? By fucking _whom?_ ”  
  
“They asked to remain anonymous. Does it matter? Objectively speaking, the way I’ve been acting has been… inappropriate,” he says, “Unprofessional. And I apologise.”  
  
Ed glowers at him. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Mustang,” he says. “There’s a lot of things I could call you, but unprofessional is not one of ‘em.”  
  
“I’m concerned that I am making you feel uncomfortable.”  
  
“What’s making me uncomfortable is not knowing what the fuck is going on,” Ed growls.  
  
“I… I’m sorry, I know that as your manager and as a man this is entirely out of line, but given those things, I feel you should know where we stand. Look, I – I have feelings for you,” he sighs, head in one hand, eyes closed. “I like you. I like you a lot, and that’s an understatement. You should know that I am only telling you this because I feel you _should_ know… given the position we’re in, it would be unfair to keep you in the dark.”  
  
Ed, for once, is speechless. He’s too taken aback to even interject with casual swearing.  
  
He eventually manages a faint, shaky “You _what_?”  
  
“I know.” Roy says.  “I know. I’m sorry. You should know – I’m not telling you this because I expect _anything_ in return – far from it. I just… I didn’t think it was fair that you didn’t know. Not given the way I’ve been acting. If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I’ll put in a request for you to switch production lines.”  
  
Ed knows he should be handling this delicately, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of anger.  
  
“That’s not fucking fair,” he retorts, leaning forward, arms crossed – confrontational. The easiest way Ed knows to deal with situations he feels lost in. “What the fuck did _I_ do to deserve getting moved?”  
  
Mustang looks up then and meets his eyes. Ed feels out of his depth, but the other man’s expression is truly distressed. Always, even to Ed, who pushes the boundaries and tries to wind the other man up like nothing else, Mustang has always looked like he’s in control, like he knows what he’s doing.  
  
“I’m sorry, I – that was – I’ll see what I can do about my moving departments instead.”  
  
Ed looks him up and down.  
  
“You, move divisions? What, and me have someone like Hakuro as my manager?”  
  
Roy stares at him helplessly. Ed rolls his eyes.  
  
“Fuck _no_ , Mustang. You’re like the only half-decent manager here, or probably anywhere. Like _hell_ I’m moving.”  
  
Roy looks away again and clenches his jaw.  
  
“Please understand that I’m trying to do what’s best, here.”  
  
“Best for you and your fucking _pride_ , maybe,” Ed spits back. “What about what’s best for everyone else?”  
  
“And by that you mean yourself, of course.” Now Mustang crosses his arms, too, and mirrors Ed’s bitter glare right back. Ed almost starts in surprise at that.  
  
“Don’t bullshit me, Ed, I know the only reason you don’t want to move is because you know I’m the only one who’ll put up with your crap. But there are thirty other people working in the department. I can’t prioritise what you want over anyone else,” he says. “And I’d do well to remember that just as much as you,” he adds, half to himself.  
  
Ed’s not sure he was meant to hear that last part.  
  
He glowers at the other man in silence for a moment or two.  
  
“So what now?” he demands.  
  
Mustang spreads his hands helplessly. “Technically, it’s up to you. If you don’t have any qualms about the issue and you don’t want to move, there’s nothing we have to do.”  
  
“Even though you’ve had a talkin’ to from HR?”  
  
“It’s a first warning and the complaint didn’t come from you, so provided we keep the status quo going forward…”  
  
“Great.” Ed grumbles. “Can I go home now?”  
  
“If you want.” Roy still isn’t looking at him as he goes to leave.  
  


* * *

   
So.  He’s liked. Admired, even. By a man nearly twice his age. By his _manager_.  
  
Ed knows the idea should bring him a modicum of disgust, but Ed has never abided by _shoulds_ and _should nots_. He has a fake leg and a collection of scars that speak for themselves in that regard.  
  


* * *

 

 When he tells Winry over breakfast, because he tells Winry everything, she slams her hands on the table and screeches “ _WHAT?!”_ so loudly that the entire canteen goes quiet for a moment, which, by any account, should be considered impressive.  
  
“So?” she hisses at him in a loud stage whisper as the hubbub and general noise slowly returns. “Do you like _him?_ ”  
  
“I dunno,” Ed mumbles, poking listlessly at his scrambled egg. “He’s nice-looking, I guess. Kinda tall, but not that tall, which is alright – and he’s like, slightly less shitty than everyone else here, so…”  
  
Martel rolls her eyes. “Wow, you’re really selling it, here, Ed. He sounds like the perfect guy.”  
  
Ed throws down his fork, annoyed without really being sure why.  
  
“It doesn’t fucking matter, okay? I don’t – I don’t want to date him or whatever.”  
  
“So how did you even find out?” Ling presses. “He just… came out and told you he had feelings for you?”  
  
Ed shrugs. “Pretty much. Fuck knows why. He said there’d been complaints about him. I can only guess that HR just gave him a warning. He apologised to me, anyways. Not that I really cared in the first place, but…y’know. It’s whatever. It doesn’t bother me.”  
  
It’s not just that Mustang puts up with him being a little shit – although he knows that’s a factor.   
It’s more like… under the sarcasm and the pretty looks and the corporate bullshit, he’s actually … y’know. A decent person.

_You’re not lost yet, so don’t you dare think otherwise._

_You’ve got a fire in those eyes of yours._

_Let’s not forget who in this factory actually drives production, here._

_I’m proud of you. You did well._

“Too right he’s been given a warning,” he hears Russell saying from across the table. “Maybe now he’ll quit playing favourites.”  
  
“It was you!” Ed exclaims aloud, voice rising in a furious crescendo as he realises what’s happened. “ _You_ called in the complaint to HR, Russell what the _fuck—"  
_  
“Of course I did!” Russell snaps. “As anyone else on our line should’ve. Anyone could see the way he looked at you—"  
  
“How is it any of your goddamn business whether or not he’s looking at me?” Ed retorts angrily, feeling like he’s spitting out bile with every harsh consonant, not caring how his indignation looks to others. Roy is a decent fucking person, Ed realises, and it isn’t fucking fair that he gets a slap on the wrist from HR while bastards like Hakuro get away with saying shit about operators behind closed doors, day in day out.  
  
“It’s a problem for everyone when the line manager can’t keep his eyes – or his hands even – to himself.”  
  
Ed remembers that day, remembers worrying about Al, home, alone, sick, remembers Roy’s hand warm on his back like an antidote to the poison of panic – he won’t let Russell twist this into something it’s not, he _won’t he won’t he won’t.  
  
_ “It’s my business when he picks you over anyone else for things.” Russell glares, arms firmly folded. “Y’know. Training. Overtime. Promotions.”  
  
_I can’t prioritise you over anyone else.  
I’d do well to remember that just as much as you.  
  
Oh_. Ed thinks, with the small, sick feeling of realising something you didn’t really want to know. _Oh._  
  


* * *

 

He tells Al, too, that same evening – only after a day on line and the long train ride home, it may have come out sounding a little more pissed-off than he’d intended. So of course Al is worried.  
  
“Maybe you should try and move lines, Brother,” he says. “Russell is right, this could have a lot of serious implications.”  
  
Ed screws up his face. What Al’s saying makes sense – as per – but something about it doesn’t sit right with him.   
  
“Why would I do that? So he likes me, whatever. It doesn’t bother me. It’s not like he’s ever done anything inappro…pri…ate…”  
  
Ed trails off, thinking suddenly of last month, after he’d completed that training Mustang pushed him into in the first place. Of Roy’s hand on his face, thumb brushing his cheek.  
  
He remembers catching Roy looking at him, numerous times, when they’re both supposed to be working. Roy always holds Ed’s gaze for a little too long, dark eyes intense. Ed is always the first one to look away, face flaming red.  
  
“Okay, maybe he is a little bit _too_ interested,” Ed admits sheepishly. “Y’know, for work. But… it’s whatever. It doesn’t bother me.”  
  
Al’s still looking at him intently, eyes concerned. “Okay, but promise me you’ll speak to HR if you don’t feel comfortable? Promise me, Ed.”  
  
Ed can’t say no to his little brother, so he promises.  
  
But he knows he won’t be calling in to HR. He doesn’t know why, but he won’t.  
  
Ed isn’t good with words. He can’t say out loud what it is. He can’t even explain to himself, let alone somebody else, what he feels about the way Roy’s deep voice rolls around the letters in _Edward_ as opposed to just _Ed_. People called Ed a genius, once upon a time, but he still doesn’t understand exactly what it is about Roy’s eyes looking straight at him that feels like firelighters sparking in the pit of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl:dr Ed is bad at feelings 
> 
> I know it's taken me a full year to finish this fic but thank you all for being patient with me <3
> 
> your comments are very much appreciated as always. 
> 
> if you want to come talk to me on tumblr my url is asexualedwardelric !


	7. Sweet Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter I know, but I just wanted to get something posted today.

_One week later_

“So,” Ling announces cheerfully the moment they’ve sat down to lunch. “Saw Mustang staring at you again today, Ed.” Ling has this habit of doing the most aggravating things with the sunniest smile plastered across his face – he probably thinks it’ll make people less likely to get pissed at him.  
  
He’s definitely wrong about that.  
  
“Again?” Martel’s expression practically screams _Schadenfreude_. “ _When_ is that guy gonna ask you out?”  
  
Ed tries to glower at both of them at once and fails. Why he told anyone about this whole issue in the first place is beyond him.  
  
“Martel, the guy is literally my manager. Even if he does like me, we’re meant to have a professional relationship or whatever.”  
  
“So?” Winry cuts in, blue eyes bright. “Workplace romances can and do happen. Look at Jean and Becky in Supply Chain, didn’t they just get married?”  
  
“She’s in planning and he’s in procurement. Different departments. It’s a little different from dating your fuckin’ _line manager._ ” Ed says, maybe a little bitterly. “Why are you so invested in this, anyway?”  
  
Winry looks mock-hurt. “Because I care about your _life,_ Ed.”  
  
Martel shrugs. “For the gossip.”  
  
Ling grins. “Because it’s fun to get you all annoyed about it.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Ed retorts.  “It’s not gonna happen any time soon, so can we please just stop talking about it?”  
  
Okay, definitely bitter. Was it obvious?  
  
Winry’s face suddenly splits into a wicked grin. “Sounds a lot like you _like_ him,” she says, leaning forward with her chin in her hands in such a perfect caricature of evil glee that Ed doesn’t quite know how to react. “I thought you thought he was an asshole.”  
  
“He _is_ an asshole,” Ed scowls.  
  
Winry raises one neat blonde eyebrow. “But he’s an attractive asshole who does occasional nice things for you, which makes him slightly less of an asshole, right?”  
  
Ed’s expression looks like he wants to throw his chips at her, and the only reason he hasn’t is because he values his food marginally more than vengeance.  
  
Ling sits back in his chair and gives a hoot of laughter.  
“Something tells me she’s hit the nail on the head, there.”

So maybe Ed shoves his tray back into the trolley a little more viciously than he should have done. Maybe he is a little violent with the badge reader on the way back into the production hall, face flaming even redder as the damned thing bleeps an error warning at him. Maybe he does look like an idiot when he tries to slam the door with the fire safety closer on it. Okay, so what the fuck ever. Why does everyone else _care_ so much about him and Roy anyway?

 

* * *

 

Winry wanders out of her office sometime the next morning to talk to him.  
  
He spots her making her way across the production floor, the audit guys practically falling over themselves in her wake.  
  
_Oh god, it’s an engineer!  
Why is it out of its office?  
Don’t let it make a mess in here too! _  
  
She looks at him from the other side of the jig, through the wires and the screwdrivers on their pulley system.  
  
“Hey, Ed?”  
  
“What.”  
  
“I’m sorry about yesterday.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” he grunts. “S’nothing. I said it doesn’t bother me.”  
  
Winry looks at him, blue eyes disapproving. Those eyes can always see right through him.  
  
“Don’t give me that. It clearly does bother you, and I’m sorry. It’s… it’s a sensitive situation, I guess. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”  
  
Ed sighs and lets go of the screwdriver he’s holding, and it swings back on its pulley as he reaches for the kit trolley. “I just don’t get why everyone cares about it.”  
  
“Everyone else thinks the situation is funny, but me…well. I just think it’s about time you lived for yourself.”  
  
“What the hell does that mean?” he grumbles, still trying to continue with his work. He’s not quite paying attention to the op standards. If he fucks up now, Mustang’s gonna murder him – ugh, _shit_ , can he just _not_ think about that guy for like two minutes?  
  
“Ed.” She touches his arm gently – the one she knows is covered with scars. Her eyes are wide and serious. “Al is doing fine. You know he is. He’s eighteen. He’s smart. He’s gonna go to uni and he’s gonna be _great_.” She smiles that bright smile of hers and for just a second Ed is dazzled by her. “And me – you know me. I’ve always been fine. So – please. Why don’t you do something just for you for a change? Be selfish. Be greedy. God knows you’ve earned it by now.”  
  
There’s a pause.  
  
“That’d be easier if I knew what it was I wanted,” he complains, and Winry sighs an exasperated sigh at him.  
  
Ed looks up to see her leave, and through the hanging wires and shelving of the jig he’s working on, he catches midnight-black eyes watching him. He feels that familiar thrill, the one that starts as a tightness in the middle of his chest and quickly unravels, becoming electric shocks along his hairline down to his very fingertips.

  
What it is he wants…?  


Suddenly everything makes a lot of sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments are welcome as always. 
> 
> p.s. stay strong, y'all.


End file.
